


counterbalance (this commotion)

by burnsidesjulia



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: 'plot' is defined as a vague handwave, Coming In Pants, Crying During Sex, F/M, Feminization, Fingering, Fluff and Smut, Julia is the Queen of Consent, Light Dom/sub, Magnus in panties, Nicknames, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, also WHUP this got a little out of hand!!, good crying!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15325737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnsidesjulia/pseuds/burnsidesjulia
Summary: Magnus stares himself down in the mirror. He can hear Julia on the other side of the door, shifting back and forth on her feet. He blinks back at his own reflection.“I look ridiculous,” he tells her. Julia laughs in response.Julia gets Magnus a gift.





	counterbalance (this commotion)

**Author's Note:**

> title from unnatural selection by muse. i wrote this all at 5am.

Magnus is no stranger to Julia’s whims.

He’s gone bungee jumping and into haunted caves, down winding unmarked paths and into murky waters. He’s gotten scars with her, gotten tattoos and burns and memories that he tucks deep in his chest, carries like he’s proud of them. And really, he is.

He’s been the subject of her less chaste desires, as well. But Magnus has never been one to kiss and tell, so he carries that differently. Just as proudly, of course, because Magnus would have to be mad or strongly enchanted to not be proud of his escapades with his wife - the word _wife_ in reference to Julia still melts his insides to a slow moving river of saccharine - but less showy. Magnus flaunts his scars. He does not flaunt his dick. Not so much anymore, at least, not since he met Julia.

Julia does not abide by the same rules as him. She does sometimes, follows quietly in his steps in a decidedly un-Julia fashion, but like clockwork she’ll burst from the sidelines with some witty quip about Magnus’ endowment or impossible strength, and Magnus will find himself stranded by her words, smiling forced at an unsuspecting partygoer who now knows too much about Magnus’ happy trail.

So Magnus is more than suspicious when, at his own Candlenights party, a precisely wrapped box that he does not recognize finds its way into his hands. The paper is crisp green and plum purple, his favorite colors. And while he does not recognize the box, he recognizes the scribble of handwriting across the top in black ink.

_MAGNUS - DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 11:04PM_

The party ends at eleven. That was Julia’s idea.

He sets the box aside, tucking it under the oaken table in their parlor. He hopes for the best, but prepares for her worst.

-

The house is mostly cleared by 11:02, mostly Julia’s doing. She has a way with asking people to leave without actually telling them to fuck off. She avoids the Magnus method, that is. She doles out hugs and cheek kisses and handshakes until only the chatty blacksmith, even chattier when tipsy with brandy, remains.

“Thank you again for coming,” Julia is finishing cooly, wrapping gentle hands around the straggler’s shoulders. “Really, Mr. Leanos. It was so nice seeing you.” Magnus across the room is too far to hear the muffled words spilling from his neighbor’s mouth, but he is close enough to watch his shoulders bounce with a hiccup. Julia ushers him to the door with cool, fluid motions that she makes seem effortless, closes the door and locks it before Mr. Leanos can turn around and strike up conversation again. She finds Magnus’ gaze and smiles. He checks his watch: 11:03.

“Can I open my special gift early?” he asks, retrieving it from its hiding place and giving it a gentle shake. A soft, swishy sound comes from inside and Julia does not cringe as he shakes it harder. He figures it must not be fragile.

“Good things come to those who wait, mister Burnsides,” she chides, and pushes the box out of his hands to come closer to him. They stand there, hands on hips and shoulders, and stare longingly at each other. Magnus is the first to laugh, and Julia follows suit so easily. The two of them are silly, dizzy, drunk with their love. The newlywed bliss is far from faded away.

Magnus leans down just the bit it takes to kiss her. Her lips are heavy with the flavor of alcohol and sugar cookies. When they stop kissing, Julia rests her head in the crook of his neck and breathes him in. He does the same, re-familiarizes himself with the perfume of her hair. She smells clean and wildly alive, warm and thrumming with heat. She’s so in love with him, so real it makes his chest threaten to cave in.

She pulls away and tugs his wrist with her, looks at his watch. “11:06,” she says. “You’re late.”

“Good things come to those who late, misses Burnsides,” he responds. He picks up the box once more.

“Not the saying,” Julia says distractedly. Her eyes are trained on the box in his hands, examining it closely. He lifts it to his face and does the same. It’s between small and medium, about the size of a book but much thinner. A silky green ribbon knots at the top in an intricate bow. He feels almost bad untying it.

“I had Clarice at the fabric shop tie that for me,” Julia says, and Magnus immediately feels better. He tugs it open, and like sand underwater, the shape slips away. He discards the ribbon to the floor.

Julia’s lip is caught between her teeth, a mischievous glint lighting her eye. Even so, Magnus can sense some amount of anxiety about her. He lifts the lid slightly, and then pauses. “Am I going to like it?” he asks bluntly, and Julia doesn’t seem phased at all. She shrugs sheepishly. “I hope so,” she admits. Magnus says a silent prayer for himself.

He opens the box just enough to see inside, a flash of emerald, jewel-like green and cream colored lace and tiny, tiny ribbons, each the size of a button or smaller. Buttons, too, dozens of them, snaps and laces he doesn’t quite understand. He stares for what feels like an eternity, and finally he snaps the box shut, his face flushing. He presses his lips together tightly, and Julia takes a step toward him. She caresses the box with one hand, his jaw with the other. “Do you like?” she asks. Magnus can’t lie. He gives a stilted nod.

Julia’s entire face lights like the bulbs stringing off their roof. She smiles. “Well,” she says. “Happy Candlenights to me.”

-

“You have to try it on first,” Julia says. When he asks why, she flusters and stutters for a minute before answering truthfully that she wants him to be able to put it on himself. “Like a fun surprise,” she supplies softly. Magnus caresses her cheek and agrees to try it on for her.

He’s not exactly excited. He is intrigued, certainly, but the mess of tiny clasps and straps that face him now, folded up so delicately in this box, is a total put-off. He stands undressed in their bathroom and glares at them as if he could intimidate them into hooking themselves.

“I could help you this time,” Julia calls through the door. Magnus shakes his head even though she can’t see him. “No, thank you,” he answers because now he’s determined to learn the language of these stupid clothes. He’s taken similar things off of Julia before. It should just be doing that, in reverse now.

He pulls out his first item and breathes a sigh of relief. It’s just panties. He knows how those work. He’s never worn them, certainly, and he’s unsure as to how exactly he’ll _fit_ , but at least putting it on will be simple. He steps in, one still-socked foot at a time and tugs them up his legs. When he’s got them on as well as they’ll fit, he steps back to examine himself in the mirror. What he sees stops his breath short. These are _very_ transparent despite the solid fabric, and they leave very little to the imagination. In fact, there’s no need for imagination at all because even soft, he’s spilling out the sides and the top, his soft cock peeking over the lacy waistband. He adjusts himself a few times and eventually manages to cram one spilling half of his literal ballsack back in, but nothing else. He can still clearly see the line of his cock, wrapped tight in green fabric. He blushes furiously, and then tries to ignore himself in favor of the items still in the box.

Next is almost a mystery to him. He unfurls the scrap of fabric, long and arcing in places, and stares helplessly at it. He thinks he can hear Julia snickering through the door. It takes him a long moment, but he places what it is triumphantly: it’s a garter belt. He knows he’s seen Julia in something similar before, but he ponders how this will fit him. He’s much wider around his middle than her, and he doesn’t have that lovely curve in his hips that she does, that dip in flesh where his hands rest so easily -

He’s getting carried away.

He tugs at the belt and finds it to have a pleasant amount of give. It stretches and grows with his pulls, and in an experimental wrap he finds it to close around the smallest part of his waist, just above his hips. He smiles to himself for having bested the belt and sets about clipping it. Here, however, he finds his achilles heel, because the clasp is small and his fingers are large. Even with it turned backwards to clip in front of him, he fumbles uselessly with the metal bits. Magnus is not visually impaired by any means, but he nearly asks for Julia’s reading glasses just to see what the hell he’s doing. After some desperate and totally random mashing of metal and fabric, he pulls his hands back to find it connected. He lets out a genuine cheer, and Julia hums from her side of the door.

“Congratulations on whatever that was,” she says. Her voice is laced lightly with impatience. Magnus redoubles his efforts and pulls out the stockings, that same cream color and silky. The soft of the fabric catches on the rough skin of his fingertips. He barely remembers to take his socks off before starting the process of putting them on.

He pulls the stockings up with little ado, easing them up his calves, over his knees and to mid-thigh where they rest delicately. And no one needs to know if he trips trying to put them on, hopping around the bathroom on one leg like some sort of fucked up ice dancer, skidding on the tile in his stockinged foot. He manages to steady himself before the mirror.

Done up in it all, Magnus really is quite a sight. The green stands out brilliantly against his dark skin, the cream a sharp contrast to the depth of the green. Together they create an almost painting-like effect, one that makes Magnus pause and stare at himself for a while. Of course, he takes pride in his body, but rarely does he truly _appreciate_ it, and this little get up certainly forces him to an extent. He brushes his hands down his thighs, fumbles with the straps from the belt. He still needs to attach his stockings.

When he finally does, he’s twisted them pretty badly, made them crooked and made himself cross in the process. The tangled mess of straps laying across his skin tears him away from the illusion, and now he can only see a man desperate looking back at him. Magnus stares himself down in the mirror. He can hear Julia on the other side of the door, shifting back and forth on her feet. He blinks back at his own reflection.

“I look ridiculous,” he tells her. Julia laughs in response.

“Come out,” she says, finally tired of waiting. Magnus takes a deep breath and complies.

He expects more laughter. He expects a gentle head shake and soft hands correcting him. Julia must know how to do it, after all. She’s done it before with no help. But what he gets is wide, soft eyes, a slightly parted mouth frozen in a casual ‘o’ shape. Julia licks her lips, makes a sound as if she intends to speak but it dies off in her mouth. She keeps staring at him, eyes flickering between his bashful face and his dressed up lower half.

“I, uh,” Magnus says finally. “I couldn’t get the hang of the belt.”

“I see that,” Julia breathes. Her eyes have long since focused onto his thighs.

“I need some help,” Magnus prompts, blushing profusely. The attention is nice, sure, but right now he feels incredibly vulnerable. The air in their house is warm, at the least.

Julia seems to note the urgency in his voice because she snaps from her trance somewhat, eyes meeting his again. She smiles gently. “Of course, Magnus,” she says, and falls gracefully to her knees before him. And oh, that’s a sight, Julia kneeling in front of him, wrapped up like a present for her. He wonders vaguely if _she_ always feels this special when she wears things like this or if maybe this is just a Magnus thing, and then he’s distracted as her slightly smaller fingers start to undo the hooks he so violently tangled.

“It takes a little practice,” she’s telling him, but he’s very unfocused. Her breath is warm, fanning out over his skin, and he’s starting to take notice of her presence in a major way. His cock gives a weak twitch when her knuckles brush at it, and he’s mortified even as they both pretend to ignore it. He knows by the smile on Julia’s face that she is not ignoring it.

“There,” she says finally, standing up and away from him. Magnus lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Julia gives him a gentle push back toward the bathroom. “Go on. Look at yourself, handsome.” Magnus does as she says, but stops short as soon as he can see himself. He looks good again, better than before, really. His legs look remarkably strong and muscular through the silk of his stockings, the unsightly surgery scar on his left knee tucked away. More, though, he can see Julia over his shoulder, eyeing him with an animalistic hunger about her gaze. She steps up closer.

“We both like what we see,” she says, almost an accusation. He nods shakily.

“Hm.” She kisses his cheek. “I guess you’ll have to figure those straps out after all.”

-

Julia tells him to surprise her with it. Magnus is good at surprises.

Candlenights comes and goes. They take down the lights around their house, stop baking and inviting over guests as frequently. Their home becomes theirs once more, and they settle further and further into married bliss. Magnus makes her breakfast. Julia makes him coffee. They read the paper at the same time.

Julia’s birthday is in January, and so that’s out of the question. No doubt, he rocks her world then as well, but he leaves his gift stowed away under a pile of generally untouched dress shirts.

Fantasy Valentine’s Day is in February. He buys chocolate and wine and scatters roses on the bed, but his gift stays saved for a rainy day.

Winter melts into an early spring. Fat raindrops fall lazily from the sky.

Julia has fallen asleep in the nook by the window, a book curled to her chest. Magnus watches her sleep, so unaware of her own beauty, and then he slips away to get dressed. Or, more suitingly, undressed.

The panties are easy as always. He struggles less with the stockings. The belt still gives him a fair amount of trouble, but he’s been practicing in silence. After only a few minutes, the last hook is slipping into place.

He combs his hair up into the messy yet neat sort of style he knows Julia likes. He puts on chapstick. He moisturizes. And then he walks to their bedroom and waits.

He knows Julia is finally awake when he hears the tea kettle whistling. He calls out to her innocently. “Jules! Could you bring me a cup?”

“Get it yourself, Burnsides!” she teases back, and her sleep-heavy voice makes him smile.

“Pleeeaaase?” he asks. There is no response. He shifts upright and tries again. “Pretty please with sugar and sprinkles?”

“You know I can’t resist sweets!” she groans in response, and Magnus knows that means yes. He arranges himself into what might be a tempting position, on his stomach with his ankles crossed innocently behind him. He tilts his head over his right shoulder and waits.

Julia comes in with her eyes focused on the two mugs of tea, but freezes in the doorway. She gapes at him, and then sets the two cups down on the dresser. Her hands find her hips.

“Well, well.” She crosses to him, stands next to the bed. “What’s this?”

“A surprise?” Magnus responds hopefully, and is silenced immediately after with a finger at his lips. “Sh,” she says. Her other hand finds the lace of his garter belt. “A surprise indeed,” she says, her voice already dropped with arousal. Magnus swallows against the new sort of tacky feeling in his throat.

“You look pretty,” she says so sweetly, and Magnus feels his heart speed up a bit. He squirms in place, and Julia takes note of that. Her eyebrows raise, but she doesn’t say anything else. She gets on the bed beside him. “Kiss me,” she whispers, and no invitation could ever be more tempting.

Magnus savors the sweetness with which they kiss, her mouth still slightly bitter from the tea. Even so, it’s soft and warm and inviting, beckoning to him and calling him. He nips at her lower lip, feels the slight catch in her breathing as he does. She pinches his arm in response, and he pinches her back, and then suddenly they’re not kissing anymore. Now, they’re wrestling each other down, pinching back and forth, laughing uproariously as each tries to overpower the other. Magnus ends the fight with a massive hug, one which Julia returns enthusiastically. They’ve rolled to the foot of the bed, Julia half atop Magnus’ left leg.

She looks down at him with such intensity that he wants to look away, but when he tries she catches his face. She kisses the apples of his cheeks sweetly. “You’re beautiful,” she says, a promise, and Magnus feels his face screw up at the compliment. He can’t describe it, but he’s never quite felt this before, a sort of dizziness seated low in his gut, the slow unspooling of arousal from within him. It stretches out to his limbs, up into his throat, curls on his tongue and chokes him. Magnus squeezes his eyes shut and nods fervently. 

Julia speaks up this time. Her hand cradles his jaw and she says, almost in awe, “You like being called pretty.”

Just the word sends Magnus spiraling again, his insides going up in flames. He absently rubs his stocking-clad calves together, and the sensation of silk sliding against silk brings him back down. He still doesn’t answer.

“Magnus,” she coos, swinging her leg over his hip. She’s straddling him now, sitting just below where the belt wraps around him. She fingers the lace delicately. “Magnus, of course you’re pretty. So beautiful and kind.” Magnus groans at that, tossing his head to the side. Praise has always been a thing for him. He likes making Julia feel good, and he likes knowing when he’s done a good job. But gods, she’s never called him _pretty_ before.

“Hey, don’t look away.” Julia tips his head back toward her with two gentle fingers. “I’ll stop if you don’t like it, Magnus.”

He shakes his head. “I like it,” he responds too fast. His breath is coming in short pants, and he’s becoming increasingly aware of his own cock, hardening fast beneath all that pretty pretty lace and silk. He lets out a deep breath. “It’s just a _lot_ , Jules.”

She tilts her head. “Good a lot?” she questions. Magnus nods. “ _Good_ a lot.”

Julia seems pleased with that answer. She shifts backwards to rest her ass on his growing hardness.

“You look so nice all dressed up for me,” she continues slowly as if testing the waters. She keeps her eyes on Magnus’ face intently. “So gorgeous, and always so _nice_ to me.”

Magnus scrubs his palms into his eyes. He’s already losing composure, focusing on not grinding up into Julia. He’s doing this for her, after all, and so he’s determined to let her set the pace. Her pace, however, is torturously slow as she drags her hands down his chest, pausing to tweak each nipple. He makes an incredibly undignified squeaking noise that devolves into equally undignified babbling of her name.

“You say my name so beautifully,” she praises, her voice rising and falling like a song. “And you look so good when you do it. Say it again for me, Magnus.”

“Julia,” he croaks. She lowers her mouth to one dark nipple and takes it into the heat of her mouth. “Dear sweet fantasy jesus, _Julia-_ ”

“Pretty,” she says again, her voice muffled. “So good.” She pulls away with a wet suctioning noise. She ducks her head for the other, but pauses. Magnus stares up at the ceiling as she shifts slightly, lifts off of him, is quiet for a moment and then breathes, “ _Oh,_ Magnus…”

He follows her gaze down to his own panties. A wet spot has leaked through, and where his head is now jutting out of the waistband he’s puddled precome onto his stomach.

“Jeez,” he says, and that’s all he really has time to say before Julia’s fingers are sweeping through that wetness, over the head of his cock. She presses her fingers together and pulls them apart, sticky strings attaching them. She looks at him hungrily. “Magnus, I haven’t even _touched_ you. Do you really like this that much?”

He thinks about that. He feels wound up so tight that he’s going to break into a million pieces any moment now. He’s that warm kind of dizzy all over, driving him half mad. He can feel every scrap of lace as it scrapes over his skin.

Magnus nods. “Uh. Yeah.” He tosses an arm over his face. “Please don’t stop.”

Julia looks down at him almost reverently, and she says, “Why would I stop, Magnus? When I love you so much? When you’re so good and beautiful?” Her hand snakes back down to his cock, and she palms him through the fabric. He cants his hips up toward her.

“Do you want more?” she asks, and Magnus has nearly gone wordless at this point. He nods. Julia smiles devilishly. “Tell me what you want then.” She pulls her hand away. She sits up off of him. Magnus is cold and Julia is gone, gone, gone.

He sits in silence for a long moment before he can say anything. When he does, his voice is thick. “Touch me. Anywhere, really, anywhere at all, just. Touch me.” Magnus isn’t sure why, but every brush sets fire to his skin, makes him sing with adrenaline. Just having Julia be away for this long is opening a cold pit in him, something he longs to close and fill with her warmth. He breathes a sigh of relief as she settles back into place atop him. Her panties are wet, too.

“Change of plans,” he says, unwilling to leave her unattended for even a moment longer. He pats his own shoulders. “Come sit on my face.”

“Magnus,” she mutters, her voice dripping with lust. She does as he asks, settling over his face.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers to her. He can smell her arousal, the thick, intoxicating scent of her wetness gathering beneath cloth. He tucks a finger into the band of her panties and tugs them downward with one massive pull, revealing her to him. The small patch of wetness on the outside was misleading, as beneath she’s soaking, quivering and wet for him. Magnus just pauses and stares for a moment.

“I love you,” he says finally, and with that he presses his face between her thighs and buries his mouth against her. He opens his mouth, running his tongue from her entrance to her clit, then back down, back up, over and over until she’s quaking above him. Only then does he wrap his lips around her clit, sucking gently and flicking his tongue across it. Julia is vocal as he devours her, savoring the heady flavor of her slick. Julia’s hips buck down toward him as he drags his tongue in circles over her entrance, cutting off his airflow entirely for a moment and his head swims with it. But Julia being Julia, she swears under her breath and pulls her hips back. “Sorry, Magnus,” she breathes, but he’s already wrapping his hands around her hips to encourage her down. “Please,” he says, and Julia understands. She plants one foot into the mattress beside his ear and rocks downward again. Magnus outright moans, his eyes rolling back for a moment. Magnus can see just enough of Julia to know when her eyes slip shut and her mouth falls open as she tries that movement again. And again. And again, and again, until she’s nearly riding his face, her clit bumping his nose when she moves forward, dragging deliciously against his bottom lip when she rolls back. He opens his mouth and enthusiastically tongues at anything he can reach, at salty skin and slick lips and her hard little clit, and oh gods he can feel her wetness everywhere, in the slight stubble on his chin and all over his lips, spilling out into his sideburns and fuck, fuck, dear gods -

His hands are on her hips, pushing her away. She’s so nice to him, he thinks vaguely through the brain fog as she immediately dismounts. She slides into bed beside him, curling up over his chest. She peers into his eyes almost nervously, looking for any signs of discomfort. And Magnus is sure she finds them, his lip caught harshly under his teeth, his brows furrowed, his legs tensing and untensing over and over again and there’s a long moment before Julia realizes that he’s trying not to come.

Julia laughs, a breathy sound that comes from low in her chest. “Magnus,” she says, a smile shaping her voice. She lays both hands out across his chest and Magnus knows she finds him violently heated, his heart thrumming wildly. He leans into the touch even as he tries to calm himself, to breathe slowly and calmly. “Magnus, love,” she coos again, and this time Magnus finds it in himself to focus his eyes and gaze back at her. “You were going to come just from eating me out,” she says. Her voice is nearly giddy. Magnus rubs at his face. He’s still wet with her, sticky and drying to his skin. “Yeah,” he says. He licks his lips. “You didn’t finish.” He reaches for her hips and starts to pull her to him again, but she bats his hands away.

“We have all the time in the world, Magnus,” she says. “Kiss me. I wanna taste myself.”

Magnus’ cock gives an interested twitch at that. He tilts his head an kisses her again, the warm taste of her mouth mixing with the bitter flavor of her arousal.

Julia’s hand finds its way back down to his cock, her fingers skating delicately over his exposed head. He tosses his head back, and her lips find his neck. She kisses up the side of his neck, down to his collarbone and back up to his ear where her teeth find purchase on his earlobe. His hips give a gentle twitch toward her hand as she bites, and he hears the low growl of her laugh. “Magnus,” she breathes. “My pretty, pretty boy. So responsive.” That light, hollow feeling returns to his bones and he floats away on it, closing his eyes and breathing shallowly. Julia tires of kissing his neck and cuts to the chase, lowering herself to eye level with his garter belt. She slips four fingers beneath it, pulls it away and lets it snap back to his skin. The sting of the elastic makes him whine.

“I’m almost sad to unwrap you,” she admits. “You look so becoming all dressed up. It’s a bit of a shame, isn’t it?” Magnus groans, tilts his hip up toward her still teasing hand. She’s taken to combing her fingers through the thatch of dark hair around the base of his cock, just barely brushing him enough to provide any friction. He thinks he knows where she’s going with this.

“Maybe I’ll leave you in them,” she muses. She wraps her hand around him, giving a gentle squeeze. “Touch you everywhere except where you need me. Make you come untouched.” She’s already strayed from this potential course of action as she starts to stroke him lazily. Magnus nods slowly, his whole body moving in bullet time. Everything blurs behind his eyelids but is so, so slow.

“I could come like this,” he admits. “Just- gods, Jules, tell me I’m pretty again?” His face is burning, but he can’t help it. Every time she compliments him like that it releases a firework in his chest, warmth that fans out through his veins and pulls him closer to climax like a rope around a horse’s neck.

She blinks up at him, eyes wide. “Gods, Magnus,” she whispers back. She looks him over again, at all of his skin wrapped up like a present, and she says, “Can I finger you, princess?”

The nickname makes some sort of delicious twist occur in his chest, one that spirals down through his gut and into his groin. His whole body goes hot, and he can see himself flushing all the way down his chest.

“Please,” he says, surprised to find his voice breaking with almost a sob. Her hand speeds a bit. “Hand me some lube,” she tells him so easily, and it’s all he can do to shuffle blindly through the drawer to get it, handing it down to her. She doesn’t do this often, not often enough if you ask Magnus, but when she does, sparks fly. He watches with hazy eyes as she slicks up one, then two fingers. She pushes aside his panties, not removing them fully, and presses the tip of her pointer finger to his hole. She waits for him to relax before she presses in, barely to the first knuckle, and then pulls out. She works back in again, a fraction of an inch deeper, and then pulls out. She works him with the grace and poise of a practiced lover, something which she only is to an extent. As far as he knows, Julia never did this before him.

“Very good, princess,” she whispers into the swell of his stomach, licking and biting lazily at the skin there. His whole body is disintegrating, turning into strings of light and stars scattered through an endless abyss. The only thing holding him together is Julia, one hand on his hip now, the other pushing a finger into him fully now. Magnus hisses between his teeth, and then relaxes. The stretch is welcome, but then there’s the hot, sizzling pain that fizzles through his legs and up his spine. The hiss devolves into an undignified groan as the pain slowly turns to pleasure. Julia’s fingers are a bit shorter than his own, a bit less practiced, but she has the advantage of angle. Magnus can never quite crook his fingers right when he does this himself, but Julia strikes that spot inside him almost instantly, tapping at it with just this side of too much pressure. His legs bend at the knees, and he can’t help himself but roll his hips down to meet her. It’s entirely too much. It’s not enough at all. His thighs start to tremble.

“Oh, princess,” Julia coos, her voice like a dog whistle that brings his brain back to alertness. He looks down at her, still slightly foggy, and she’s smiling wolfishly again. “You know what I’d like?” she asks softly, her finger still pressed into him. He feels the tap of another at his hole, pressing but not entering. He shakes his head. He doesn’t know, but he’d sure like to.

“I’d like if you could come in these panties, gorgeous.” Her voice is low, hot, slithering through the air and into his ear like a snake. Predatory. “Make a mess of yourself. How would you like that?” Magnus can only moan in response, the sound choked with a sob, and before he knows it he’s tearing up. He’s not sad, he deciphers quickly, not panicking or upset in any way. He’s just- it’s a lot, all of a sudden and hitting him like a runaway battlewagon. Hot tears splash down his face, and he sniffles somewhat pathetically. Julia sits up, sees him, and starts to pull away in a bit of a panic.

He catches her wrist before she can, shaking his head. “I’m good,” he assures her. “Really.” He laughs, a watery hiccup caught in the middle. “Just. Really wanna come.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, and she sounds a bit frazzled. He nods. “Please, Jules,” he asks. “Help me out.”

Julia’s eyebrows knit together. Then she works back in her first finger, adds the tip of a second, and dips her mouth to meet the fabric over his cock.

The next few moments are blurry and desperate. Julia presses her fingers just so and breathes _something_ soft and sweet about how beautiful he is and his chest twists again and he’s crying and then he’s coming, hard, against the fabric of his panties. He can only keep his eyes open long enough to see the wet spot start to form on them, and then that’s entirely too much and he squeezes them shut, riding out his long overdue orgasm with a series of showy moans and flexing and thrashing.

Julia pulls out her fingers gingerly. She kisses the sticky wetness of his panties and then licks her lips. She looks up at him, tears still caught in his eyelashes.

“So,” she says. She folds her hands in her lap. Magnus mimics her as best he can, still laid out like- well, like a man thoroughly fucked. He nods. “So,” he echoes. “That’s a thing.”

“Apparently.” She crawls up the bed to lie beside him, kissing his cheek. She smiles. “Princess.”

“It’s only hot when I’m _not_ wearing panties covered in jizz,” he complains. He reaches down and makes quick works of the clasps to pull them down his legs, leaving the belt and the stockings on.

“Shame that they’ll be ruined now,” Julia muses. Her voice is heavy.

“Yeah.” Magnus sets his hand on her hip. “You never got to come.”

“I did.” Julia gestures to a slightly damp spot on the sheets and shrugs. “Grinding against the bed. Fingering you. It all adds up.”

“That’s hot as fuck,” Magnus says bluntly, pressing his forehead to hers. They kiss lightly, on and off at intervals, and Magnus starts to doze off. He’s earned it, he thinks. He’s been thoroughly wrecked by this afternoon.

The last thing he hears before he falls asleep is Julia, a gentle laugh in her voice, saying, “We forgot about our tea.”

**Author's Note:**

> listen... everyone puts taako in pretty undies. what about my big man. where's his love
> 
> anyways, every other fandom i've ever been in has had a thing for dude in panties. there is a shocking and frankly offensive lack of that in the taz fandom
> 
> im @dungeondyke on tumblr. hit me up!
> 
> comments and kudos please! if you liked this consider reading my other fics, especially the multi-chaptered one im working on!


End file.
